


Lack

by Iamthesmileyface



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, He's a kid y'all, I didn't cry when I wrote this but I wanted to, No Romance, Sad, Sad Ending, Suicide, Suicide Notes, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 03:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11176236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iamthesmileyface/pseuds/Iamthesmileyface
Summary: Did you know that sensory deprivation is a form of torture?





	Lack

**Author's Note:**

> Just a heads up! If you are feeling suicidal, DO NOT READ THIS. There is NO happy ending here. If you are feeling suicidal, PLEASE contact your local suicide prevention hotline, or at least a close friend. I love you, and don't want you to die.

Al was tired. He knew that that statement didn’t make all that much sense, he didn’t have a body or even a brain to be tired with. He had no bones to ache after a long day, no eyelids to droop, no melatonin to make him sleepy. But he was tired nonetheless, tired of watching Ed run himself into the ground and blame himself for Al’s existence. He was tired of watching people eat around him, not even being able to smell the food. He was tired of sitting up night after night after night, only able to watch the world around him and _think_ , to play the events of the day over and over in his mind until they had mutated into something horrible. He was tired of _watching_ , period.

Which was why he was sitting there, in the little hotel room in the latest wild goose chase town. Ed was out, talking to the man that swore up and down that a local alchemist had created the Philosopher’s Stone. The local alchemist didn’t seem like as much of a nutjob as some of the others they’d encountered, so Ed had insisted that he could handle it alone. Al balled his hands in the bedspread, and he would have winced as a loud _riiiiip_ sounded through the room. A flash of anger hit him, and he tightened his grip further. He couldn’t even feel the thick woolen blanket rip like paper in his grip! And that was the crux of the issue, he mused.

Not so much the lack of sensation of ripping fabric specifically, but the lack of sensation in general. It terrified him. He’d only been a suit of armor for three years _(he’d been a suit of armor for THREE FUCKING YEARS)_ , but he’d already forgotten so much. The warming rays of the sun, what it felt like to be full, what it felt like to be anything but tired and achingly alone. And he was alone. Ed, Winry, Colonel Mustang and his team, they all tried to help in their own ways. But none of them could stay up with him, and for slow, creeping hours every night he was alone. There were barely any noises then, even in the big cities, so he couldn’t even pretend to be the human in the big suit that nearly everyone assumed he was. _Was he even human?_ Al stiffened as the thought drifted across his mind, the abhorrent clank and groan of metal accompanying the movement _(just like every other movement)_. Then an even more horrifying thought occurred to him. He didn't know. He brought the big metal hands attached to the armor into his lap, opening them and staring at the scrap of brown fabric against steel and leather.

But he could set himself free. The thought was curious, but strangely exhilarating, even though he realized thirteen was probably too young for these kind of thoughts. He repeated it in his head. He could end all of it. It wouldn't even hurt, _couldn’t_ even hurt. He made up his mind. It wouldn’t be here, in this little town. It wouldn’t even be all too soon, he had goodbyes to say.

He sat there for some time, watching the sunlight angle down and fade into the far fainter glow of lamps in the windows. He came back to himself with a cacophonous jolt when the door slammed open and Ed stumbled in, looking exhausted but not injured or even dirty.

“It wasn’t it.” Ed’s voice was hollow. Al just nodded, the armor clanking. Ed didn’t talk after that, and Al didn’t try to make him. Ed needed the rest. It would only be a few hours before he screamed his way awake, after all.

The latest Philosopher’s Stone’s fakeness gave Al even more resolve. If fate wanted him to stay in this metal, unfeeling body, he would just change his fate.

 

*~*~*

 

“Another dead end? I’m _surprised._ ” Colonel Mustang’s eyebrow quirked upwards as he surveyed the sight before him. Ed growled.

“If you’d _check the reliability of the sources_ , you wouldn’t have to be _surprised_.” He hissed, mimicking the Colonel mockingly.

Al tuned out the argument, he’d heard it before. Ed would be angry, the Colonel would be sarcastic. The Colonel would bait Ed, Ed would take the bait and explode. When Ed inevitably stormed out, Al stayed behind. The silence in the room took on an oppressive air, when it was just Al and the Colonel there.

Unsurprisingly, Mustang broke the silence first. “Is there something I can do for you, Alphonse? You usually don’t stay after your brother leaves.”

Al shifted, clanking. “I just wanted to...thank you, I guess.” Mustang looked surprised, though he quickly recovered.

“For fighting with your brother?” He said, humor in his tone.

“No, for taking care of us, these two years.” Al said.

The Colonel’s face smoothed out in a way that would have been unnoticed to most. But Al had two senses to rely on, he knew how to read expressions at this point. “I haven’t been taking care of you.” He scoffed.

“Ed’s been in the military for two years and he’s never killed anyone.” Al said simply. “You’ve only send us on missions where he could continue that. Plus, you hardly ever send us to hot places, where Brother’s automail would burn him.” Colonel Mustang shifted uncomfortably, opening his mouth. Al continued, not giving him room to talk. “So, thank you. Um, that’s - that’s all, see you bye!”

And Al fled the room.

 

*~*~*

 

Lieutenant Hawkeye approached him later that day. He’d been wandering around aimlessly, appreciating the sights and sounds in a way he hardly ever did. When you decided to kill yourself, everything seemed brighter and more beautiful, he reflected. Lost in this newfound admiration, he didn’t even notice the barking until he nearly tripped on a familiar black and tan Shiba Inu. Fumbling and trying desperately not to step on any part of the dog, he looked around for Black Hayate’s owner, who couldn’t be far.

He almost missed her when he saw her, thrown by the lack of military uniform and the grocery bags in her arms. “Oh! Lieutenant Hawkeye! I didn't see you, sorry.”

“No harm done, Alphonse.” She assured him, smiling slightly. “What are you doing around here? I heard Ed was headed for the library.”

“He is, I got tired of reading.” It was a partial truth, he reasoned. He had gotten tired of staring at the same page, unable to read the words. “I’ll go back for him soon, he needs to rest.” Black Hayate finally was satisfied he’d smelled every inch of Al’s feet and lower legs, and went to sit by his owner’s side.

“Well, if you’d like, you could accompany me to my apartment.” Lieutenant Hawkeye offered.

Taken by surprise, Al could only blurt out “Sure!” She nodded her acknowledgement, walking past him. He fell into step beside her, Black Hayate on the other side.

“So, Alphonse, how have you been?” She asked.

“Um, I’ve been pretty good. Nothing out of the usual, really.” He brought his hand up to the back of his helmet.

Hawkeye only nodded. They continued on in semi-comfortable silence before Al spoke quietly. “I wanted to thank you again, for staying with me last time we were in the city.”

“It wasn’t a problem.” She said, seemingly unsurprised. “Nighttime can be a lonely time.”

They didn’t speak after that, save for when they got to her apartment, and she thanked him for walking with her. Al walked away, feeling pleasantly happy that he got an opportunity to thank her and say his goodbyes, as understated as they were. Tomorrow, he decided. He would visit the Hughes family and call Winry. Then he could let go. But first, he had to get his brother to not spend the night in the library.

 

*~*~*

 

When they got to the barracks and Ed collapsed on the purportedly uncomfortable bed, Al gave in to weakness. “Would you...would you stay up with me tonight?” Ed had sat up and grinned at him, making himself comfortable before launching himself into a monologue on something idiotic some long-dead alchemist had written in some book or other. Al let the noise wash over him, listening more to the cadence of his brother’s speech than his words.

 

*~*~*

 

“Oh, Alphonse!” Gracia Hughes was surprised to see him as she opened the door, though she smiled anyway. She hesitated, looking around him. “Is your brother with you?”

“No, he, um, he’s at the library. Is Lieutenant Colonel Hughes here?”

Gracia smiled, more relaxed now that she knew why he was here. “Yes, he's here. Come in, come in.” She stood aside so he could clank his way in.

Mr. Hughes was sitting on the couch, letting Elicia climb all over him and babble at him excitedly. Elicia noticed Al first, jumping off of the couch and running over to him, crashing against his legs. “Big brother Al! You came to visit!” Al reached down to pat her head, and he would have smiled at her if he could. She was certainly grinning enough for both of them. “Come look at this, Al! I drew a picture!” Elicia grabbed Al’s hand off of her head and led him over to the table in front of the couch, her tiny hand dwarfed by the metal and leather of his own. She proudly presented the messy, but surprisingly good crayon drawing of a potted flower.

“That’s very good, Elicia! You must have practiced a lot since I last saw you.” Alphonse said.

She nodded eagerly before she asked him, blunt in only the way children could be, “So, why did you come to visit? Was papa expecting you?” She looked to her father, who had been joined by her mother on the couch.

Mr. Hughes was grinning widely as he looked at the two of them, and Al was certain he was itching to grab his camera. “I wasn’t!”

Al felt he would have blushed if he had had cheeks. “I can...I can come back another time if that would be better for you.”

“No, no, I didn’t mean that! What can I do for you?” Mr. Hughes sat up more fully, looking up at Al. That made Al a bit uncomfortable, if only because an adult man shouldn’t have to crane his neck that far back to look a thirteen year old in the eye.

“I just, well--” Al cut himself off, shifting his footing noisily. “I wanted to thank you. I was thinking about it recently, and, well, brother and I have never actually thanked you and Mrs. Hughes for opening your home to us when we’re in Central. I mean, we’ve thanked you before but that was mostly for feeding my brother every time we’re here, even though he eats so much. So, thank you.”

Mr. Hughes laughed, a deep, rich sound with absolutely no metallic undertone, and a wave of jealousy swept over Al for a moment. “It’s no problem! It’s a pleasure to have you and your brother here.”

Mrs. Hughes smiled almost as widely as her husband. “He’s right! Besides, I always make too much food, your brother does us a favor! I only wish your alchemy training would let you eat as well.”

Even Elicia joined in, grinning ear to ear. “It’s always really fun when you and littler big brother Ed visit us!”

Al nodded and laughed a bit, feeling painfully awkward. They were all so earnest, he didn’t quite know what to do. He stayed with them for a half an hour, letting Elicia show him all her artwork and honestly enjoying being around a family that was so obviously full of an easy kind of love.

Eventually, however, the happiness had turned to loneliness _(he couldn’t have this kind of simple love, hadn’t had it since his mother died)_ , and he had to leave. They invited him to come and visit any time, and he lied, saying he would. He felt relieved as he left. They knew how much he valued them, and how grateful he was that they’d done all they had for him and his brother; and he knew for certain, now, that they wouldn’t abandon Ed after Al was gone.

 

*~*~*

 

“Rockbell Automail!” Winry greeted cheerfully but professionally, her voice slightly tinny through the phone.

“Hi, Winry.” Al greeted her, certain that if he had a moveable face he’d be smiling.

Her tone immediately became warmer. “Al! It’s so good to hear from you, especially without Ed’s automail being broken.” She paused, sounding suddenly suspicious. “His automail isn’t broken, is it?”

Al snickered, the sound echoing through the armor. “No, I just wanted to talk to you. We hardly get to talk anymore.”

The grin returned to her voice. “I know, it’s awful! I never know what you do, and it's always someone calling to tell me Ed’s broken his automail.”

“Well, we're not doing much right now. Just waiting for another lead. But I realized a little while ago, that we've never actually thanked you for everything you do for us.”

“Oh!” Winry sounded startled. “it's really not as much of a problem as I say it is. You two are family, and besides, it lets me practice!”

Al laughed, feeling a swell of affection for the girl who was family in all but blood. They chatted for a bit, discussing the minutiae of their lives and Winry bemoaning the ridiculous drama of small town life.

Al looked at the clock on the wall above the phones, and silently cursed when he saw that he’d been talking to her for fifteen minutes. “I have to go,” he said apologetically. “There's a time limit on these phones.”

“I understand.” She sounded disappointed, but said goodbye in as cheery a tone as she could. Al hung up, feeling lighter. There was only the letter left, now.

 

*~*~*

 

Al took a breath and steadied himself. He was sitting on the floor of the barracks room, the letter in his hand on his lap and his helmet next to him. The hand that wasn't holding the letter was reaching into the hollow cavity his helmet usually covered, hovering over the blood seal. He imagined, however nonsensically, that the helmet on the floor next to him broke it's immobility to smile. With that image in his mind’s eye, he lowered his hand, scraped it down the metal and --

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Dear Brother, Winry, Colonel Mustang, Lieutenant Hawkeye, and everyone else:_

_Thank you. This wasn’t your fault, none of you._

 

_To my brother alone, two things. One, please don't try to bring me back. I don't think I could handle it. Two, don't you dare try to follow me. I want you to live, and be happy without being guilty about my state. I love you._

_Yours,_

_Alphonse Elric_

**Author's Note:**

> find me at [my tumblr](http://yepiamthesmileyface.tumblr.com/)


End file.
